"albinos" poems - Hello Poetry

of course i ********** every night, otherwise i'd be wondering about the next Laika in space with some next soviet conspiracy Sputnik hovering while i chance abbreviate a change on hairstyling thinking: jeez, this is a little bit too afro frizzy for a brainstorm, maybe i better opt for Jamaican dreads? economics of shampoo usage, suddenly a large bank account. i do get the idea behind treating nouns like albinos... bleach the ******* hang them to dry in Polaroids... while commercial flights fly at a certain height, and the rich buggers fly high enough to jet-stream in the cirrus uncinus bracket... and they lie to children, they're talking about strange satellites... i can't see satellites, not without Galileo's excommunication apparatus, satellites, as far as i am concerned orbit the earth in a non-visible spectrum of the vacuum... hence their orbiting outside of the visible spectrum atmosphere of the earth, i would not be able to see a satellite for the love of Michaelangelo.

0

May 4, 2016

May 4, 2016 at 8:25 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

Jamaican dreads

of course i ********** every night, otherwise i'd be wondering about the next Laika in space with some next soviet conspiracy Sputnik hovering while i chance abbreviate a change on hairstyling thinking: jeez, this is a little bit too afro frizzy for a brainstorm, maybe i better opt for Jamaican dreads? economics of shampoo usage, suddenly a large bank account. i do get the idea behind treating nouns like albinos... bleach the ******* hang them to dry in Polaroids... while commercial flights fly at a certain height, and the rich buggers fly high enough to jet-stream in the cirrus uncinus bracket... and they lie to children, they're talking about strange satellites... i can't see satellites, not without Galileo's excommunication apparatus, satellites, as far as i am concerned orbit the earth in a non-visible spectrum of the vacuum... hence their orbiting outside of the visible spectrum atmosphere of the earth, i would not be able to see a satellite for the love of Michaelangelo.

27

She saved his name In the dearest part of the Places in her phone-book As him As the wall-paper As the ringing tone As the welcome message As the shut-down message As the reboot message As the password As the screen lock As the screen saver Because it was him. She saved his name In the tender-most spot of the Tissues in her juvenile heart As the billow of her night As The pillar of her tired body As the undergird for her weak shoulders As The king of her threatened soul As The man of her womanhood As the human part missing in her nature Because it was him. She led herself wallow in the Most turmoil of the whirlpool in his social-sphere that came to her Young academic world For money For sanity For sanitation For security For preparedness For social emergence For the future calamity And for self-completion Because it was him And he was available. Married, settled and most available, Available to all; the young, the adult and the aged Available to men, bi-curious and women Available to the poor, peasant and the owning, Available to the unschooled, the so-so, and the knowing, Available to the widows, the married and the divorced Available to the immaculate, the citizens of red-street world The Harem keepers, red-tent keepers and the pimp’s protégée, Available to the Arabs, Negroes, Asians, the black Jews, Chinese and the Albinos, Available to the whites, Ab-origins, the lame, the bearded and boob-less women, Available to the epileptic, the ghosts, the dead, and for the burial rituals of the Luo, Available he was in extra version as a Libertino. By Alexander Opicho (From, Lodwar, Kenya) [email protected]

0

Aug 9, 2019

Aug 9, 2019 at 5:57 AM UTC

alexander-k-opicho

Him

She saved his name In the dearest part of the Places in her phone-book As him As the wall-paper As the ringing tone As the welcome message As the shut-down message As the reboot message As the password As the screen lock As the screen saver Because it was him. She saved his name In the tender-most spot of the Tissues in her juvenile heart As the billow of her night As The pillar of her tired body As the undergird for her weak shoulders As The king of her threatened soul As The man of her womanhood As the human part missing in her nature Because it was him. She led herself wallow in the Most turmoil of the whirlpool in his social-sphere that came to her Young academic world For money For sanity For sanitation For security For preparedness For social emergence For the future calamity And for self-completion Because it was him And he was available. Married, settled and most available, Available to all; the young, the adult and the aged Available to men, bi-curious and women Available to the poor, peasant and the owning, Available to the unschooled, the so-so, and the knowing, Available to the widows, the married and the divorced Available to the immaculate, the citizens of red-street world The Harem keepers, red-tent keepers and the pimp’s protégée, Available to the Arabs, Negroes, Asians, the black Jews, Chinese and the Albinos, Available to the whites, Ab-origins, the lame, the bearded and boob-less women, Available to the epileptic, the ghosts, the dead, and for the burial rituals of the Luo, Available he was in extra version as a Libertino. By Alexander Opicho (From, Lodwar, Kenya) [email protected]

52

Im coming of age In the era of the devoid Hollow greed seeps unearned from elephanitus of love all the dead *** heads and the glorifed child **** stars live in tandem with virginity commerce a descriptive high full of lies here we are raised to never forget the look on a beautiful girls face when the zippers break and all the mallets fall when mud and blood and ***** mix to a collegiate concoction Leaving her to bear the scabbing burns The openings the ambrosia flesh wounds The giant stamp of pulsing indecency The markings don’t go so well with her hollow moon smiles They don’t blend with her regal clavicles To bend them in with a wrench Would do no damage to this already feral ***** Don’t try to hide The billboards may be sagging But they carry the message loud and effeminate All the drum ticks and coated arteries will explode They cant be stopped Mucho gusto, muy bien All that we ever where locked into some Tooth paste stained and tattered bibliomeca It is true I have become that broken shameful collection Which we are taught to stain in the wood works of our memory I turn to page 1168 And I know that the bruises will be permanent Surrounding the globe and bridging in the gaps The ones that they left between your calamity eyes Will they still love me with one foot locked in a bear trap And a hobo having the last of my eyelashes ? Or maybe just the scary albinos at the san Francisco bar scene

0

Nov 30, 2010

Nov 30, 2010 at 8:56 AM UTC

sparkles-asparagus

A dog so diseased it chews its own tail

Im coming of age In the era of the devoid Hollow greed seeps unearned from elephanitus of love all the dead *** heads and the glorifed child **** stars live in tandem with virginity commerce a descriptive high full of lies here we are raised to never forget the look on a beautiful girls face when the zippers break and all the mallets fall when mud and blood and ***** mix to a collegiate concoction Leaving her to bear the scabbing burns The openings the ambrosia flesh wounds The giant stamp of pulsing indecency The markings don’t go so well with her hollow moon smiles They don’t blend with her regal clavicles To bend them in with a wrench Would do no damage to this already feral ***** Don’t try to hide The billboards may be sagging But they carry the message loud and effeminate All the drum ticks and coated arteries will explode They cant be stopped Mucho gusto, muy bien All that we ever where locked into some Tooth paste stained and tattered bibliomeca It is true I have become that broken shameful collection Which we are taught to stain in the wood works of our memory I turn to page 1168 And I know that the bruises will be permanent Surrounding the globe and bridging in the gaps The ones that they left between your calamity eyes Will they still love me with one foot locked in a bear trap And a hobo having the last of my eyelashes ? Or maybe just the scary albinos at the san Francisco bar scene

36

Only Albinos Can be mimes, (Or Johnny or Edgar Winter) For Hallowe'en. As for trick or treating, There's enough Al Jolson masks Out there to ***** us all.

0

Sep 19, 2019

Sep 19, 2019 at 9:36 PM UTC

francie-lynch

Whites Only

Only Albinos Can be mimes, (Or Johnny or Edgar Winter) For Hallowe'en. As for trick or treating, There's enough Al Jolson masks Out there to ***** us all.

7

AKELDAMA (THE FIELD OF BLOOD) If I were Shakespeare I would say: what hath happened to you mother earth? Fallen creation! What hast thou done? Abel’s blood laments from the ground Innocent streams of blood flow in the swamps Calling in the deepest seas Yet creation joys at its screams and groans Blood and bones spread like a red carpet Bodies hung like clothes on a washing line Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth has become! Brothers butchering each other over stolen money Babies murdered in the name of abortion Albinos sacrificed in the quest for wealth and good luck Oceans are dump sites for human carcases Pastors servicing their ministries with innocent souls Alters covered with ***** and blood Bribery has become the order of the day Akeldama! Akeldama! The world has become! Authored outside the garden of Eden Anger and heartlessness have become a burden The love for money has made hearts to harden With personal pockets to fatten Forgiveness and good virtues are forgotten Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth has become! Shattered into pieces my heart bleeds My soul weeps tears of blood Tears that are torn and roasted before they reach the ground Causing my troubled heart hasten to pound Just like a floating trophy blood shed circulates around My voice is bubbling within me I am like an ant under an elephant’s hove Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth has become! Judases creeping in the shadows Like giant monsters Innocent hearts dripping and drizzling with blood The guilty jubilantly roaming the streets The church is silent A sleeping lion! A toothless bull dog Blood stained tithes and offerings Flesh fuelled businesses crowding the CBD Deceit and betrayal is a game of hearts Dead consciences that cannot be resuscitated Children are fatherless and mothers are childless The rich are heartless The heirs are senseless Crying is useless They deem Christianity meaningless Talking about Ubuntu is a sign of weakness Leaders are foreign to selflessness Oh Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth has become! To him who hold the seven stars in his right hand Who is the first born of all creation? Turn not a blind eye on our afflictions For how long will we sing the sour song of Akeldama A song written by the greedy and blood thirsty A rhythmless song sung when strings are broken and voices are full of anger Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth mourns! Oh Akeldama!

0

Mar 27, 2018

Mar 27, 2018 at 3:17 AM UTC

onesimo-ngcotsha-mpofu

AKELDAMA (THE FIELD OF BLOOD)

AKELDAMA (THE FIELD OF BLOOD) If I were Shakespeare I would say: what hath happened to you mother earth? Fallen creation! What hast thou done? Abel’s blood laments from the ground Innocent streams of blood flow in the swamps Calling in the deepest seas Yet creation joys at its screams and groans Blood and bones spread like a red carpet Bodies hung like clothes on a washing line Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth has become! Brothers butchering each other over stolen money Babies murdered in the name of abortion Albinos sacrificed in the quest for wealth and good luck Oceans are dump sites for human carcases Pastors servicing their ministries with innocent souls Alters covered with ***** and blood Bribery has become the order of the day Akeldama! Akeldama! The world has become! Authored outside the garden of Eden Anger and heartlessness have become a burden The love for money has made hearts to harden With personal pockets to fatten Forgiveness and good virtues are forgotten Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth has become! Shattered into pieces my heart bleeds My soul weeps tears of blood Tears that are torn and roasted before they reach the ground Causing my troubled heart hasten to pound Just like a floating trophy blood shed circulates around My voice is bubbling within me I am like an ant under an elephant’s hove Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth has become! Judases creeping in the shadows Like giant monsters Innocent hearts dripping and drizzling with blood The guilty jubilantly roaming the streets The church is silent A sleeping lion! A toothless bull dog Blood stained tithes and offerings Flesh fuelled businesses crowding the CBD Deceit and betrayal is a game of hearts Dead consciences that cannot be resuscitated Children are fatherless and mothers are childless The rich are heartless The heirs are senseless Crying is useless They deem Christianity meaningless Talking about Ubuntu is a sign of weakness Leaders are foreign to selflessness Oh Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth has become! To him who hold the seven stars in his right hand Who is the first born of all creation? Turn not a blind eye on our afflictions For how long will we sing the sour song of Akeldama A song written by the greedy and blood thirsty A rhythmless song sung when strings are broken and voices are full of anger Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth mourns! Oh Akeldama!

60

The lowdown is the low down of the west play their games the western way clutching a fluffy toy says this is a teddy bear Come down the Equator where men were born men never were boys and blazing sun seasons and bake you mahogany hard in the palatial forestry you learn to look the wild beasts in the eyes The refrigerated souls says nowt when you bawl at lions its your turn at the watering hole and can mimic the hiss of the serpents and pull hogs by the tail you know red eye albinos only come out at night to pose by the fire I, who have stood under the African sun at noon and offered it more coal to kindle its hellish fire even more I, owner of Sango excalibur that has slain twenty plus in bloodless bliss can I be moved by ice cave dwellers who are forever children on knees I own rays of sun and spake with ancestors unbowed breathe the air of the Serengeti and ascended Olumo for homage I will drink my own blood and hear the calls of my deities to arm I will never be moved by the music of the unclean souls in howling celebrating their shame and praising the jins of weakness and cowardice I am my father's son, born under African sky I am the land that made the man of the man of the living men I know the star that led three to herald the King of Kings forever I know who I am, grind me to dust I will rise and tell you yet again I am my father's son...I know who and what I am...... I am my father's son...I know who and what I am...... I am my father's son...I know who and what I am......

0

Jul 12, 2019

Jul 12, 2019 at 8:20 PM UTC

yenson

Cut to the chase.....

The lowdown is the low down of the west play their games the western way clutching a fluffy toy says this is a teddy bear Come down the Equator where men were born men never were boys and blazing sun seasons and bake you mahogany hard in the palatial forestry you learn to look the wild beasts in the eyes The refrigerated souls says nowt when you bawl at lions its your turn at the watering hole and can mimic the hiss of the serpents and pull hogs by the tail you know red eye albinos only come out at night to pose by the fire I, who have stood under the African sun at noon and offered it more coal to kindle its hellish fire even more I, owner of Sango excalibur that has slain twenty plus in bloodless bliss can I be moved by ice cave dwellers who are forever children on knees I own rays of sun and spake with ancestors unbowed breathe the air of the Serengeti and ascended Olumo for homage I will drink my own blood and hear the calls of my deities to arm I will never be moved by the music of the unclean souls in howling celebrating their shame and praising the jins of weakness and cowardice I am my father's son, born under African sky I am the land that made the man of the man of the living men I know the star that led three to herald the King of Kings forever I know who I am, grind me to dust I will rise and tell you yet again I am my father's son...I know who and what I am...... I am my father's son...I know who and what I am...... I am my father's son...I know who and what I am......

28

ALBINOS ARE SAINTS* His colour is that of clay, Africa's rich harvest and heritage He's a masquerade; A mystery; a myth; a labyrinth and a maze Have you ever wondered how albinos were made? I tell you how They didn't come from the earth Their flesh; a baked cake from the sun, Descent from the fires of mystery Sun flares giving their hairs such a sparkle A sparkle that's a dazzling dazzle, Mankind is afraid of their smiles They are heavens beauty and secret weapon. Children of the sun Whose father must protect them from the sun Their eyes give infrared beam across the dark nights An albino is not just beautiful, He's heavens beauty and secret weapon. This is how the myth goes, An albino never dies He simply vanishes; Fate is theirs. Even an albino is enthralled by another albino, They are born in the sun and buried in the moon Or do you know a tombstone? Just one With the eulogy boldly written "And herein lies a mystery: An albino, who defies nature and logic He's born in the sun and buried in the moon... No you wouldn't find one 'Cause their tombs are in the heavens Albinos are born saints and they die same.

0

Feb 17, 2017

Feb 17, 2017 at 4:05 PM UTC

kingsley-dominic

ALBINOS ARE SAINTS

ALBINOS ARE SAINTS* His colour is that of clay, Africa's rich harvest and heritage He's a masquerade; A mystery; a myth; a labyrinth and a maze Have you ever wondered how albinos were made? I tell you how They didn't come from the earth Their flesh; a baked cake from the sun, Descent from the fires of mystery Sun flares giving their hairs such a sparkle A sparkle that's a dazzling dazzle, Mankind is afraid of their smiles They are heavens beauty and secret weapon. Children of the sun Whose father must protect them from the sun Their eyes give infrared beam across the dark nights An albino is not just beautiful, He's heavens beauty and secret weapon. This is how the myth goes, An albino never dies He simply vanishes; Fate is theirs. Even an albino is enthralled by another albino, They are born in the sun and buried in the moon Or do you know a tombstone? Just one With the eulogy boldly written "And herein lies a mystery: An albino, who defies nature and logic He's born in the sun and buried in the moon... No you wouldn't find one 'Cause their tombs are in the heavens Albinos are born saints and they die same.

34

Je m'échoue Au tréfonds de tes entrailles Je plonge Je remonte à la surface Je respire Je plonge Je remonte à la surface Je respire Je plonge Je remonte à la surface Je respire Inlassablement Je suis Moby **** The Whale, dit Migaloo dit Galon de Leche La baleine à bosse albinos, ton ombre dans les ténèbres Et chaque fois que tu vois léviter Dans l'air ma queue de cétacé Tu jettes au large ta pudeur Tu largues tes amarres : Tu te confesses, nue et sincère, Tu m'avoues tes faiblesses, Tes rêves et tes envies Et tu pars en une jouissance infinie Pendant que je te bénis de ma semence Et que je t'offre l'entière rémission des péchés, La gloire et la vie éternelle. Je suis Moby **** Je suis Migaloo, Je suis Galon de Leche, Je suis ta Sainte Trinité Ton triple humpback whale, Ton ombre trois fois portée . Écoute mon chant, c'est le fruit de tes entrailles : Il se nomme Désir C'est un chant qui absout, qui assouvit Qui transforme les vagues de ma bosse En élixir d'immortalité. Il vogue sans radar et sans boussole Vers les isthmes immergés et les détroits éternels De ton Atlantide intime Dernière frontière où gît ton Triangle des Bermudes Ecoute le chant divin de ta baleine à bosse, Ton cétacé, ton albinos Et joins ta voix à sa voix et fonds-toi En valses et galipettes Dans la toison obscure et attirante De l'ombre de son ombre.

0

Aug 21, 2019

Aug 21, 2019 at 6:52 AM UTC

cyclone-wolfok-baltimore

Le fruit de tes entrailles

Je m'échoue Au tréfonds de tes entrailles Je plonge Je remonte à la surface Je respire Je plonge Je remonte à la surface Je respire Je plonge Je remonte à la surface Je respire Inlassablement Je suis Moby **** The Whale, dit Migaloo dit Galon de Leche La baleine à bosse albinos, ton ombre dans les ténèbres Et chaque fois que tu vois léviter Dans l'air ma queue de cétacé Tu jettes au large ta pudeur Tu largues tes amarres : Tu te confesses, nue et sincère, Tu m'avoues tes faiblesses, Tes rêves et tes envies Et tu pars en une jouissance infinie Pendant que je te bénis de ma semence Et que je t'offre l'entière rémission des péchés, La gloire et la vie éternelle. Je suis Moby **** Je suis Migaloo, Je suis Galon de Leche, Je suis ta Sainte Trinité Ton triple humpback whale, Ton ombre trois fois portée . Écoute mon chant, c'est le fruit de tes entrailles : Il se nomme Désir C'est un chant qui absout, qui assouvit Qui transforme les vagues de ma bosse En élixir d'immortalité. Il vogue sans radar et sans boussole Vers les isthmes immergés et les détroits éternels De ton Atlantide intime Dernière frontière où gît ton Triangle des Bermudes Ecoute le chant divin de ta baleine à bosse, Ton cétacé, ton albinos Et joins ta voix à sa voix et fonds-toi En valses et galipettes Dans la toison obscure et attirante De l'ombre de son ombre.

47

I believe Angels are women; Forever kissing the red to rose petals scattered on bedsheets in faint light rooms. I believe Angels are Albinos Holy yellow hair sparkling in the moonligh Angels have deep kissing pink lips, I know. I know Angels give whiskey the brown sparkle. One sip to it and you can't fight the love back. Tonight, I want to be commanded by an Angel.

0

Aug 2, 2018

Aug 2, 2018 at 3:24 PM UTC

Josh_Cooper

Albino Angels

I believe Angels are women; Forever kissing the red to rose petals scattered on bedsheets in faint light rooms. I believe Angels are Albinos Holy yellow hair sparkling in the moonligh Angels have deep kissing pink lips, I know. I know Angels give whiskey the brown sparkle. One sip to it and you can't fight the love back. Tonight, I want to be commanded by an Angel.

8

The sous-chef of the albinos says I'm in charge of cooking, baking and roasting and in this hell-stance my delusions rules the roost I've got the Crème de la crème and arsenic in tincture prepare the grills and flames for a banquet of homicidal delight Get that deer, King of the forest and protector of all heave that Buck down, none but I holds power in this domain its times of discontent, green eyes and walking dead are hungry from challis of Madam White Snake and the shroud of San Lucifer a sacrifice, a sacrifice for cold hearts and all mothers of the spawns The belly crawlers and spawns in Hades kitchen toil to high jack the mind of this regal imposing stag unsurpassed hounded, mud-spattered, neither the raging winds nor savage beasts snares and putrid guile's, poisoned mindless and shameless tarring the buck bedded in Mother Nature in solace true and enduring light So the sous-chef of the witless albinos says, no matter... lets get a clone of that regal buck, sharpen knives and slice away pepper, season hung, drawn, quartered, boil and simmer all the way go tell tales of our magnificent menu, that stag is ours, for the eating a merry feast for you all, pieces of eight for the dead deer's chest, ahoy, ahoy, ahoy.....!!

0

May 26, 2019

May 26, 2019 at 7:51 AM UTC

yenson

They eat living meat.....

The sous-chef of the albinos says I'm in charge of cooking, baking and roasting and in this hell-stance my delusions rules the roost I've got the Crème de la crème and arsenic in tincture prepare the grills and flames for a banquet of homicidal delight Get that deer, King of the forest and protector of all heave that Buck down, none but I holds power in this domain its times of discontent, green eyes and walking dead are hungry from challis of Madam White Snake and the shroud of San Lucifer a sacrifice, a sacrifice for cold hearts and all mothers of the spawns The belly crawlers and spawns in Hades kitchen toil to high jack the mind of this regal imposing stag unsurpassed hounded, mud-spattered, neither the raging winds nor savage beasts snares and putrid guile's, poisoned mindless and shameless tarring the buck bedded in Mother Nature in solace true and enduring light So the sous-chef of the witless albinos says, no matter... lets get a clone of that regal buck, sharpen knives and slice away pepper, season hung, drawn, quartered, boil and simmer all the way go tell tales of our magnificent menu, that stag is ours, for the eating a merry feast for you all, pieces of eight for the dead deer's chest, ahoy, ahoy, ahoy.....!!

20

*perhaps they'd like these linguistic albinos, but there is a greater allegiance to the tongue, than to the flesh, to the flag, to the geography... there's a transcendental allegiance to the soul... i hold my allegiance to the tongue, even if it's imported and a parasitically gloating bud akin to cancer... i still hold my allegiance to the tongue, but not, to the people that imbue it materialistically as flag & flesh first... i have an allegiance beyond the diadem of the crown... i will speak the natives tongue, but i will not bleach myself in order to sink to their level of despair... hence i kept a dual allegiance to another tongue... nation does not come before tongue... and tongue is what is inserted to animate the soul; forget your roots, forget whether there was ever you in the first place; ******* can't bleach me into being their circus ******* that constantly tend to invent slang!* how often i find myself wishing to speak a third language, other than english, **** it: even german! but i sometimes come around thankful that there's a cushion for the ear to recline on... a song in finnish, in french, norwegian, faroese... russian... and i'm suddenly satiated... they might have forced out the tongue of the africans... but then again the skin colour disparity, and sure, the africans managed to climb over their loss of tongue... problem is... they're white, i'm white... my tongue is the only thing that differentiates me from them... i can't forget that, i simply can't accept the Islam of the english language... given that it has mutated in america and is hardly represented by the authentic natives... if we're going to be so, ******* blunt; there has to be a middle... you even know how intimidating it is to be visiting paris, and not knowing an ounce of french? you get to play a deaf person... unless you find an Italian or a Canadian girl to be your tour guide in a hostel... otherwise? cut my tongue out and start calling me Pierre, the village idiot.

0

Dec 8, 2017

Dec 8, 2017 at 8:52 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

a tourist in Paris

*perhaps they'd like these linguistic albinos, but there is a greater allegiance to the tongue, than to the flesh, to the flag, to the geography... there's a transcendental allegiance to the soul... i hold my allegiance to the tongue, even if it's imported and a parasitically gloating bud akin to cancer... i still hold my allegiance to the tongue, but not, to the people that imbue it materialistically as flag & flesh first... i have an allegiance beyond the diadem of the crown... i will speak the natives tongue, but i will not bleach myself in order to sink to their level of despair... hence i kept a dual allegiance to another tongue... nation does not come before tongue... and tongue is what is inserted to animate the soul; forget your roots, forget whether there was ever you in the first place; ******* can't bleach me into being their circus ******* that constantly tend to invent slang!* how often i find myself wishing to speak a third language, other than english, **** it: even german! but i sometimes come around thankful that there's a cushion for the ear to recline on... a song in finnish, in french, norwegian, faroese... russian... and i'm suddenly satiated... they might have forced out the tongue of the africans... but then again the skin colour disparity, and sure, the africans managed to climb over their loss of tongue... problem is... they're white, i'm white... my tongue is the only thing that differentiates me from them... i can't forget that, i simply can't accept the Islam of the english language... given that it has mutated in america and is hardly represented by the authentic natives... if we're going to be so, ******* blunt; there has to be a middle... you even know how intimidating it is to be visiting paris, and not knowing an ounce of french? you get to play a deaf person... unless you find an Italian or a Canadian girl to be your tour guide in a hostel... otherwise? cut my tongue out and start calling me Pierre, the village idiot.

38

Dresden As the war was winding down it was decided to bomb Dresden It had no industry and had no military target. the bombing was vengeance Ten thousand people were killed that night mostly burnt to death as the attack created a firestorm. This was ****** The killers got medals. With the war on the thought was a dead German is a good German. I think this outrage prolonged the war. It took years before the atrocities saw the light of day, excepts India and Kenya, few knew Britain could be party off mass ****** The Albinos has been revelry to many carnages and gotten away with it. It is time for an apology to Dresden and her people.

0

Mar 25, 2020

Mar 25, 2020 at 5:47 AM UTC

jan-oskar-hansen

Dresden

Dresden As the war was winding down it was decided to bomb Dresden It had no industry and had no military target. the bombing was vengeance Ten thousand people were killed that night mostly burnt to death as the attack created a firestorm. This was ****** The killers got medals. With the war on the thought was a dead German is a good German. I think this outrage prolonged the war. It took years before the atrocities saw the light of day, excepts India and Kenya, few knew Britain could be party off mass ****** The Albinos has been revelry to many carnages and gotten away with it. It is time for an apology to Dresden and her people.

18